Softball: A Somewhat Strained Excursion into the Why
Tony Mac's team pulverized my own 19-9, in a lurid spectacle that once again left me pondering the causal complexities that transform a disappointing yet respectable defeat into a calamitous font of enduring, multigenerational disgrace (and I don't even have kids!) No, I'm not some kind of masochistic nut job that somehow thrives on the psychic wound of a double-digit trouncing, but when such wipeouts occur, I do seek the reasonological answers in a compelling blend of Karmic analysis, Bayesian Networks and Kant's deeply annoying theory of Moral Aerobic Agency. To be sure, who wouldn't?
The point is that for this particular match, it would be easy to just say that the Macmeister's triumph was a direct result of his galvanizing captainship. Indeed, his side was floundering thru the 5th, and yet as he looked deep into the abyss of a stark 6-4 deficit, he suddenly cried out with the authoritative zeal of a rare categorical imperative; Let's get some runs-Enough of this losing shit! Eight hits and 10 minutes later, they were ahead by five and would never look back, and frankly, I think that any epistemological etiologist worth their salt would see those stirring words as nothing less than the triggering event of the ghastly rout that followed.
Epistemological etiologists, of course, are unemployable morons. Here's what actually happened; My team succumbed to the explosive power of unbridled young love, pure and simple. In fact, Jeffrey Powers was on fire from the get-go, smashing a 2nd-inning triple to the wooded tundra beyond deep centerleft, and three innings later, another multi-base 2-RBI rocket to deep centerright. The onslaught never abated, and sure, one could say that this was just Jeffrey being himself. But let's get real; Casi had flown in from Colorado just to play with her cherished main squeeze, and with that much amorous adrenalin coursing through his studly little veins, the Jeffanator was an unstoppable power-hitting machine of pure show, allure 'n woo. Truth be told, I still get clavicular goose-bumps thinking about the romance in life's rich pageant.
Of course today's youth are all about equilibrium in the exteriorization of the normally private procedures of wooage, and thus Casi herself was not to be denied. Yes, with one out, bases loaded and her team pulling ahead in the 7th, she upped the amative ante with a blistering line drive a full 5 and 3/8 inches down the left field line!! Needless to say, Jeffrey beamed with pride as her single drove in yet one more hope-crushing run, and while I could've been bitter as the opposing captain, I wasn't. In fact, I took a certain solace in knowing that while we as a species may never know the ultimate causal processes of any given team's complete and utter collapse, it still feels better when it's most likely rooted in the inscrutable mysteries of inter-athletic attraction rather than the harsh Kantian dictates of a cold and uncaring universe. And therefore there will be a game at Codornices this Sunday at 11, IF I get enough commits by this Friday morning
There will be a game at Codornices this Sunday at 11, and as of now there are still four slots left.
Please bring $4 for the field, which, as always, includes complimentary valet parking, satin 5,000 thread count sheets and a post-game tray of 20 artisanal cheeses